His smile tightens, jaw flexing, and I can practically hear the enamel grinding off his clenched teeth. We’re nose to nose now, his narrowed eyes locked on mine and pinning me in place—twin blue flames that singe my skin.
Behind me, I hear Kara lean over to Jordan. “Is this some weird form of foreplay? Because I don’t get it.”
Cody clears his throat. “So did you two meet through work, then?” God bless this guy for trying to salvage this social interaction from the jaws of hell. We are thisclose to storming the stage and scream-singing “You’re So Vain.”
“We sure did,” Jack says, brimming with phony pride, and I’ve got to hand it to him—his “devoted boyfriend” act is convincing. “And it’s been such a blessing to be in a relationship where my partner understands the unique stressors of the industry. Working in media is crazy, as you can imagine, but Cassidy is so supportive,” he says dotingly, and I brace myself for whatever grenade he’s about to pull the pin on. “Our work even crosses over from time to time. Of course, Brawler isn’t much for fashion and diet tips,” he says with a condescending, good-ol’-boys chuckle, and my blood blasts from simmering to a full boil.
I bring the heel of my stiletto down very deliberately on his foot and am gratified by his wince. “But if you’re looking for fratire or dick-lit, he’s your man!” I boop him playfully on the nose.
His eyes are razors, slicing me to ribbons. “Speaking of fashion tips, that dress is a little revealing, don’t you think?”
I rear back like I’ve been slapped. How dare he insult the dress! Now he’s gone too far. I’m about to charge him like a bull when Nat cuts me off at the pass. “I’m sorry, revealing?”
He looks me up and down, making a show of his appraisal. “Just seems like she’s advertising something that’s not for sale.”
Nat stares at him unblinkingly, and I genuinely fear for his life. With Nat, silence is impending violence. If looks could kill, Jack would be wearing a toe tag. “Her dress is gorgeous, just like her.” Her voice is hypothermic.
“I agree,” Gabriel says flatly, arms crossed. He’s a bouncer ready to toss Jack out of here headfirst, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air–style. He may even throw in an Oscars-esque sucker punch for good measure.
A uniformed server passes by with a platter of hors d’oeuvres and I snatch a few off the tray, barely identifying what they are before cramming them down my throat. Apparently, psychological warfare works up the appetite. Jack gives me a patronizing smirk and I can practically hear the next degrading insult trip off his tongue: You sure you want to eat that? A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips! To beat him to the punch, I take my next bite in slow motion, moaning in pleasure with some excessively suggestive Mmm’s. He has to cover his mouth with a hand, and I nearly had him there.
He clears his throat, attempting to recover. “Cassidy is beautiful, there’s no doubt about that,” he says with tenderness, his eyes briefly softening, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to call a cease-fire—but when they sharpen again, I know he’s about to deliver the knockout blow. “Of course, if you think she looks good now, you should see her in an apron.”
There’s a chorus of muted gasps and I suck in a breath. Unfortunately, I completely forget that my mouth is full of appetizers and I inhale spinach spanakopita down the wrong pipe, sending me into a coughing fit—and because the universe hates me, Cynthia chooses that moment to materialize at our sides.
“Jack Bradford.” The two of them size each other up like Olympic rivals while I choke on phyllo dough. “Can’t say I ever expected to see you at a Siren event.”
“I like surprising people,” he says without a hint of irony. “Though I certainly appreciate the invitation.”
“It’s not me you should be thanking.” She sends me a meaningful glance while Nat beats my back. “Cassidy speaks very highly of you.”
“Does she now?” He swivels his head to catch my eye, a sinister Joker grin climbing his face, and now I’m panicking. It’s one thing to act out in front of my friends, but to do so in front of my boss is taking things too far. I defended him to Cynthia. I put my dignity, my credibility—heck, my entire career on the line for him. These histrionics might be fulfilling some petty need he has for revenge, but this is my real life we’re talking about. It’s all fun and games until someone gets fired—and since I’m the only one here who doesn’t sign their own checks, I’m the one who will pay the price.
“I do.” I take his hand and squeeze tightly, imploring him with my eyes: You’ve made your point. Please don’t do this. He tilts his head at me, feigning ignorance.
“That’s my girl. You’ve always got my back, haven’t you, babe? And I’ve got yours.” The vindictive gleam in his eyes belies his innocent words, and I know there’ll be no white flag waving on his horizon.
Where is that waitress when I need her? I’d like to stab him in the thigh with a chicken skewer. “I need some air. Jack, would you mind joining me outside?” I ask tersely. Translation: Join me outside or else.
“In a minute, sweetie.” He pats my hand dismissively and I indulge in some internal screaming. “So, Cynthia, things at Siren must be going pretty well these days.” He makes a show of looking around the sprawling ballroom, whistling through his teeth. “This is quite an event.”
“They are, thank you,” she preens. “Cassidy here has certainly had a big hand in that. Though from what I hear through the grapevine, you’ve got some big things happening yourself.” She raises an eyebrow and Jack stiffens slightly, something unspoken passing between them. What is she talking about? “I suppose congratulations are in order.”
“For what?” I ask, genuinely confused.
Jack’s jaw tics, and Cynthia holds eye contact with him for another beat before turning to me. “On this new relationship, of course! Jack, you seem to have somehow won over one of my star writers. Well done.” Though her tone sounds more accusatory than congratulatory.
He dips his head in acknowledgment. “I’m a lucky man. Now if only I could figure out how to win her over professionally,” he says in a flippant, half-teasing but not-really-teasing way. “Brawler could use more strong female voices, and I’m not above using all the tools at my disposal to poach her away.”
I goggle at him like gargoyle horns have just sprouted from his forehead. Me, work at Brawler? Is he high?
Cynthia seems a little shell-shocked herself. She looks from him to me, her expression concerned. “Is this true? Are you considering leaving?”
“He’s just kidding. I’m very happy at Siren,” I assure her firmly, beaming him a death glare.